Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Sri Lanka and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing The Seeds to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Monolake. All the underground hits.
All Donny Hathaway tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every L. Decosne record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a R.M.O. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Joe Finger,
Crispian St. Peters,
Severed Heads,
Skriet,
Warsaw,
Davy DMX,
Idris Muhammad,
Subhumans,
Tears for Fears,
Malaria!,
The Slits,
The Move,
Ken Boothe,
Ronnie Foster,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Tres Demented,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Star Department,
Monolake,
The Busters,
Unwound,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Minny Pops,
Kerri Chandler,
Althea and Donna,
Erasure,
Neu!,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Brothers Johnson,
Juan Atkins,
Gregory Isaacs,
Jawbox,
Depeche Mode,
Surgeon,
Grey Daturas,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Seeds,
The Moleskins,
DNA,
The Real Kids,
Infiniti,
Laurel Aitken,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Sister Nancy,
The Slackers,
The Kinks,
The Wake,
Gerry Rafferty,
Marshall Jefferson,
Clear Light,
Johnny Osbourne,
La Düsseldorf,
Basic Channel,
Graham Central Station,
Lindisfarne,
Supertramp,
The Fortunes,
U.S. Maple, U.S. Maple, U.S. Maple, U.S. Maple.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.